The Bozeman weekly chronicle. (Bozeman, Mont.) 1883-1889, 1887-06-15

after all, for this odd proselyting spirit
seemed the most genuine sentiment in
character almost entirely given over to
the worship of self.
did not pay much attention to what he
was saying at first, because it was in re-
gard to artists who stole his ideas. and on
that topic had enjoyed varied assort-
ment of stories, some of which had foun-
dation in fact; the most Of them, however,
were rank fables. But when he began to
talk about an artist who was Catholic I
began to prick up my ears Is he, l
vaguely pondered, about to perform one
of his feats Of concealment and reveal
himself to me under the childlike belief
that he has put me quite off the scent? I
watched him in the freight and noted the
pallor of his long face, countenance not
unlike those ugly but attractive men at
the court Of Queen Elizabeth, narrow
faced, long jawed, weak in one way,
strong in another. His long foreinger
reached up beside his lean cheek and hol-
low temples till it was lost in his hair and
great elf lock of the latter fell on his
gaunt wrist Somber eyes gazed raptly
In the Goals and between the choked
pauses the words came thick and quick
An idea struck me suddenly. Not any
longer practical Catholic, was the need
IF confessing himself working within, and
causing him to tell me, his acquaintance,
what he ought to have told to some whom
he considered commissioned by heaven to
hear him2
''There was fellow student of rine,n
he said, in sentences interrupted by pauses
of which he took no heed, 'swho had an
1t was the occasion of his life, for he had
lived hitherto in a grim fight with starva-
ton, having been too proud to apply to
his relatives for belp in his distress. Money
was given him to buy materials and hire
models; he went away for a week into the
country to be absolutely alone, and finding
that the country was less lonely than the
town, returned and did little but haunt
the churches. He was good Catholic
then and complied with all the regulations
Of the church. At last-the idea he
sought came to him-but not at church.
Oh, no, not while good thoughts were in
his mind-but at the opera while ballet
was being performed. He had gone there,
so he told me, to escape from the pressure
of worry over this picture. Chance had
it that among the crowd on the stage per-
forming part in the chorus after fashion
was a face which, If not in all respects
fitted for Madonna, was to the artists
changed bit, the other enlarged-and
there was the Queen Of Heaven, like and
yet unlike the type handed down with all
the imposing traditions Of Italy! My
friend was wild with delight. He be-
sieged the box office and guarded the exit
from the stage. At last his divinity ap-
peared, shabby, demure, angered at his
impetuOus address, but at last mollified,
interested, appeased, and in fine persuaded
to come to his studio the following day.
"She was young, she was lovely, she
was virtuous girl from the country, whom
series Of cruel disasters lad thrown on
her own resources, and it was not long be-
fore my friend came to value, admire, to
love her in his own way-not q good way,
it seems--and give her plainly to know his
feelings. The folly of it will not be real
lied by you who are not an artist, for If
there is one thing more insane than another
it il for an artist to think of his model in
any but severely professional way.
However, my friend was young and fool
ish; he was very, very lonely; and so was
she. They lunched together, walked to-
gether, read together. He taught her, so
he thought, to be Christian, for she had
belonged to some queer sect or other that
protests against Protestants, such as our
country abOunds in. The Madonna was
almost, nay, 1t was quite finished when
what might have been foretold occurred.
There was a week of bliss, month of
agony, and one morning her hat and veil
were found on q pier. The great river, in
whose babbling springs she had dabbled
her childish feet, took her to its bosom,
away from the unkindness, the vileness
of mankind"
Brown had brought the lean, long hand
before his face, but caught the glitter of
moisture on his cheek and his voice was
husky.
"And the Madonna is nows'
"Gone. He could never bear to look at
it again. Taking fiis colors again after q
year had passed away he obliterated the
whole picture. Over that he painted
view of the North river as one may see it
in winter at nightfall, when the ferry
boats crunch through floating ice and the
steamers chafe and groan at their moor
ings, when the air is full of sleet and the
lights of vessels in midstream gaze at you
like the eyes of baleful monsters. Oh,
what fool that man was! First to allow
himself to love model, then to trifle with
her then-but nonsense! What is it to
mea Curse him! To cap it all-such a
painting as that9 A melodramatic thingi
Instead Of covering her with daisies and
buttercups, planting above her beautiful
trees that might whisper comfort to the
poor thing, and shower blossoms on her
grave, giving her at least after death the
satisfaction of a glorious sky and view
Of earth, sea, heaven and Gods bright
sun! Curse him, the fool, the fool'
held my breath at this incoherent out
burst, incapable Of saying anything, and
horribly convinced that my wretched
friend, perhaps with certain distortions of
fact as he commonly used, was relating to
me no less an incident than the one which
had changed and blighted his life.
But what nonsense am talkingl" he
suddenly continued, ''my poor friends
poor friend could not be buried at all
then why should he have painted land
scape over herr She is there, far off there,
under the sands of the Hook, or her bones
are deep in the ooze of the bayr'
As he said this his long arm with the
long hand seemed to stretch away in the
freight as If it could point exactly to the
spot where that hapless child lay buried.
I could stand the strain no longer and
started up. But he was quicker than l,
and before could oppose the movement
had seized his hat and was gone.
How long l stood do not know, but
the certainty that he had confessed his
crime to me was paramount. wanted
light-companionship and, striking a
match, touched it to candle before Henry
Browns masterpiece. In the center, where
the blossoms from the apple trees were
strewn, was low mound that had not
noted before. 'It is her grave" NUT
tered. As did SO noted place where
the thick paint In that spot had sprung,
and, holding the candle close, detected
other cracks near by. Trying the largest
with my nail, o thin, fiat piece sprang off.
gazed curiously into the opening. Under
meath was the corner of an eye.
That night read not at all and slept
little; the next morning had my picture
taken to restorer, and bade him remove
from the figure beneath every trace of the
landscape. 1t was not a matter of days,
but Of weeks; and, meantime, Henry
Brown had avoided me, and finally sent
word that he would leave next day for
Europe. I went to the Gorlens a few
days after receiving his good by note, and
happened to mention his departure.
by the by" added, as we parted,
"you have never come to see my picture
by Henry Brown, as you promised. If
you do not trust my taste you do your
husbands, and he saw and marveled
at it."
"You have never asked me again, (" said
Mrs, Van Gordep, quite in her usual vein.
"Ask us to tea; let nobody else interrupt,
and we will give you our opinion. hear, y
She turned and said word or two to the